True Courage
by CaptainessAli
Summary: Being a female Musketeer just got a whole lot more complicated - just throw in a terrible past (or two), destructive plots, the people to carry them out, and a huge load of danger ... along with friendship, love, loyalty, and above all, the courage to face and overcome it all. (NEWLY RE-EDITED)
1. Chapter 1: The Decision of a Lifetime

**Hey everyone! Sorry for the long wait for many of you, but thanks so much for the reviews and follows! I know I've been essentially dead these past few months, but I've been rereading these all-nighter stories (and you won't believe how many obvious flaws I found in them) so I am actually in the process of revising and completely re-editing all my stories. (True Courage included, of course.) So you might find that there are a few changes here, but they will be important to the story later on, so it might be helpful to reread :) I know this is rather an interruption as you are still all reading the story, so I promise not to do this again until I'm completely finished writing! :D Again, thanks so much for all the support, and I hope you enjoy this revised version of the story!**

**This long author's note LOL ^^ **

Making the decision was the easy part; it hadn't taken her too much effort. It was carrying it out, however, that would prove extremely difficult. Not to mention the stakes at hand. However, given the circumstances, that was exactly what Annette Darcy had to do.

It was dangerous - indeed, she would not expect anything less than imprisonment for life if she was caught. She might well be accused of being a spy.

But not if she proved herself first. And that was what she fully intended to do. With flying colors, if possible.

It was an unfair society she lived in, but she was going to make the best of it.

Pocketing the small folded sheaf of parchment in her coat, she set out.

**Please leave a review! I'd really appreciate the feedback! :D**


	2. Chapter 2: Paris

**Heh. I didn't really change much here. I just realized the chapter lengths varied really greatly LOL but it just fits the action better. Sorry if you felt like some chapters were too short/long! **

Even in the bustling streets of Paris, it was not too hard to spot the well-dressed young man making his way through the crowds that thronged around the city's famous shops. He was rather short of stature, but carried himself with a dignified (though, at the moment, a somewhat nervous) air. The young man took out a small piece of parchment, referring to it periodically as he walked throughout the city. He seemed to be trying to reassure himself, or steel himself for something.

"I have to do this," he said to himself.

At length he found his way to a very spacious quarter in the city, home to some of its finest buildings. He went up to the door of one luxurious-looking mansion, rang the doorbell, and was immediately greeted by a guard, who asked him who he was.

"An -" The young man stumbled over his words for a moment, and hid it behind a cough. Then he straightened up and spoke more clearly.

"My name is Andrey. I come from the south of France, and I have traveled a long way to see Monsieur de Tréville."

"Here to become a Musketeer, are ye?" asked the guard, looking him up and down critically. At last he seemed pleased with what he saw – but there was little room for doubt, for the young man had the very air and appearance of a noble - or at least a very wealthy man.

"Yes," said Andrey.

"All right then, please come with me to the lobby." The guard turned and headed inside, with Andrey following. While no one was looking, the young man reached inside his pocket and pulled out a rather battered-looking envelope, as though making sure it was still there.

**Leave a review! :D Is there anything I still need to fix? What do you think of the characters so far?**


	3. Chapter 3: Enter Musketeers

**Okay, so this chapter underwent a LOT of major changes. D'Artagnan and Annette, in particular, needed a bit of improvement, so yeah :) Anyway, I hope you like it! :D**

In one of the many spacious, lavishly furnished rooms in a certain Monsieur de Tréville's villa, three men sat around a table, talking and playing cards. One man clearly looked to be the leader of the group, with an air (almost) of a king that commanded immediate respect. Across from him sat an extremely burly man, who was struggling to fit into his small chair while he dealt out cards on the table. Next to this second man sat his exact opposite - a short, wiry man, who looked as though he could either be a priest or a philosopher.

The brawny man played his cards recklessly, and threw them down on the table as if he expected a miracle to occur any minute. Across from him, the leader gave a calm smile, and laid down his cards triumphantly. The burly man's mouth fell open in shock, and then his face fell.

"What!? I lost again!" he whined. "Athos, why don't you let me win _just this once, _or I'll never be able to live down the shame!" The small man next to him snickered, but then quickly pretended to cough when the burly man glared murderously at him. "Shut up, Aramis!"

"Well, if you didn't challenge me first then you wouldn't have lost, Porthos," said Athos pointedly. This time Aramis didn't even bother to hide his loud guffaw, nearly falling over in his chair. Porthos sighed in resignation.

"Thanks to you two, I have no hope of being a true Musketeer again."

"A true Musketeer does not make bets that he will always lose," said Aramis, and he and Porthos soon fell to arguing, while Athos looked on in amusement.

* * *

Most days, D'Artagnan would have laughed himself silly at this comical sight of his three unlikely friends, but he wasn't there with them today. There were more pressing problems to address. Such as that of a certain Duke of Buckingham and his accomplice Milady de Winter.

Those two were up to something. He could tell, and he had heard the reports of suspicious activity. But no one knew exactly what horrible plans they might be cooking up, and that could spell danger in the extreme. D'Artagnan desperately wanted to do something about this, but what?

Lost in thought, he found himself taking the well-known path back to Monsieur de Tréville's villa. It held many fond memories for him - it was, after all, where he'd first met his lifelong Musketeer friends. Now _that _was one interesting story that he could definitely entertain children with - not that he had any, of course, still being only two-and-twenty ... Life was still long, and for now, he was enjoying it single. (Though perhaps 'enjoying' would be a bit of an overstatement in this case.)

D'Artagnan entered the mansion and made his way distractedly through the winding corridors that were now practically imprinted in his memory. Then he turned a corner and crashed straight into a short young man, nearly sending him flying.

Whoops.

_Note to self, _thought D'Artagnan. _Never walk so fast, especially when you're in a crowded mansion and not paying attention to where you're going ... unless you're running for your life, of course..._

"My apologies," said D'Artagnan, holding his hand out to help up the young man. But the other refused his offer of help and got up, dusting himself off and looking extremely peeved. A letter was clutched in one hand, and the other grasped the hilt of a sword stuck in his belt - an aspiring Musketeer, then, by the looks of him.

He seemed very young, though - at least two years younger than D'Artagnan. The age requirements must have changed this year. His appearance told it all – he could have been a nobleman's son, or a nobleman even – plus his clothes would have made Porthos jealous for eternity. Even his voice radiated a faint air of dismissal, as though he was very much used to giving orders. (This was exactly the type of voice that grated on D'Artagnan's nerves, but he wisely kept silent.)

"Could you _please _look where you're going this time ...?" The young man's voice trailed off suddenly and D'Artagnan, though grateful for the silence, turned to look at him. The young man was staring at him oddly, and it was ... rather unnerving. There was _something _in his stare, something strange - recognition, perhaps?

D'Artagnan racked his mind for easily-annoyed, snooty, well-dressed young men, but found none. So what was it then? ...

"Have we met before?" D'Artagnan asked finally. The young man jumped at the sound of his voice, muttered a hasty negative, and suddenly became very interested in his coat pockets. _Definitely strange, _thought D'Artagnan, until he noticed something lying on the floor, a little ways from the other man's boot.

A _pink, _silken handkerchief … and with the initials "A.D." D'Artagnan struggled not to laugh aloud. This could only have come from a lady - the other man's _lady friend!_ Now _that _explained everything ...

He had to stow the (many) well-thought-out remarks that now came to mind - he only ever used them on Aramis and Porthos, not strangers.

"Is this yours?" he asked the young man. Immediately the young man bristled, but D'Artagnan thought he could even detect a trace of red in the young man's face, thereby giving him away completely.

"No," said the young man brusquely, trying to ignore the handkerchief, though his eyes kept darting back at it. So it was definitely his.

"Now, now," said D'Artagnan, unable to resist. "You wouldn't want to disappoint your lady friend, now, would you?"

_Now just turn away before he can see your smirk._

_Too late, he did._

"Oh, all right," the young man said abruptly, and snatched the handkerchief away, apparently seeing that it was useless to argue. If possible, he looked even angrier than before. At being found out?

"You know, I've heard that dueling is an important part of being a Musketeer," he continued. Challenge shone in his eyes. (_Rather hotheaded new Musketeer we've got here, _thought D'Artagnan.) He didn't even wait for D'Artagnan to answer. "So... I challenge you to a duel!"

Hmm ... _someone _was annoyed about being teased, apparently.

Well, he'd soon learn that dueling, when it involved an experienced Musketeer, was no easy matter.

And if it had been anyone else ... well, that would be a matter of life and death.

But the word was out, and there was no taking it back once D'Artagnan had accepted it.

And he _did _enjoy a good duel now and then.

They ended up shaking hands on it.

"All right then, that's settled ..." D'Artagnan stopped, realizing that they still didn't know each other's names.

"Andrey," the young man supplied helpfully.

Andrey ... Sounded more Russian than French. Still ... "At another time, perhaps, it would have been nice to meet you. Anyway, I'm D'Artagnan. How about dueling at noon tomorrow?"

"That would be just perfect."

* * *

"Now, what have I done?" Annette said despondently to herself in the confines of her room, looking at the mirror. "I've gone and challenged an _experienced Musketeer_ to a _duel_, when my last swordsmanship lessons were almost a year ago..."

With her moustache and men's clothes on, she was barely recognizable, even to herself. A pair of previously energetic grey eyes now stared back at her listlessly from the depths of the glass. This was what she had now become, what she must now become used to ... a life on the run. A life that might now be jeopardized unnecessarily ... _by her own hand! ..._

"All because of a stupid handkerchief!" she groaned aloud. "I couldn't even, for the life of me, have walked away as if it was nothing! No! I had to challenge him to a _duel ..."_

This stupid hotheadedness would be the death of her (literally), if she didn't get rid of it soon.

She didn't even need to worry about outside dangers now - there was only one name for the ridiculous threat that now faced her.

Annette Darcy herself. Only Annette could get herself into such big scrapes.

She felt like tearing her hair out in frustration. (But that would only help her disguise, not her situation.)

"So much for Andrey," she lamented. "If I lose this duel, Annette - or rather, Andrey - will never become a Musketeer ... or anything else, for that matter."

_Pride always goes before the fall._

_Look at you, Annette. So you think you've gained the upper hand simply because you're the favorite. So what; you'll never amount to anything in this world anyway._

The cold, cruel, spiteful voice suddenly reverberated within her mind, causing her to shiver involuntarily at the memory.

_The full, rouged lips, turned up at the corners in what would have been a friendly smile if the eyes had not been glittering with malice, hate ... and an unmistakable thirst for revenge. But revenge for what?_

She didn't want to think about it, and she closed her eyes tight, as though she could shut out the unpleasant thoughts...

* * *

_It was all dark. The entire room was pitch black, and completely silent. Where was she...?_

_The door slammed open, and light lanced throughout the room like a laser, nearly blinding her with its onslaught. Light ... very bright, but as though it had been reflected off of something... _

_... Something metal._

_Before she knew it, the metal was pressed against her throat. Her heart juddered in fear - intense fear that only quadrupled as she realized who was holding the dagger._

_"_You ..." _she gasped. _

_"You never had any hope of escaping me, Annette. I've found you at last." The cold, cruel voice gave way to a mirthless laughter that sent chills down Annette's spine. She tried to back away from the dagger, but there was no way out. The tears began to steal down her cheeks, even though she had made a vow against weakness._

_"Why ... why would you do this? To me? To all of us ...?" _

_"Only because I must." _

_And then the shining dagger came hurtling towards her with impossible speed..._

* * *

"NO!"

Annette sat up in bed with a start, shivering, her face still streaked with tears.

It was only a dream. Only a dream. She wouldn't be found, ever. It was only a nightmare. She was safe.

All the same, she still wished she could talk to someone ... someone who understood her...

And for some reason, she found herself suddenly remembering a certain, rather (actually very) handsome-looking Musketeer from a few hours ago...

No.

She was _always _too ready to trust in people, and that was a weakness. She had to be strong.

She was startled by the blinding light that suddenly lanced from the window, which she silently cursed herself for not closing properly. But then she went to the sill and looked outside. It was still afternoon, thank goodness. Not too far away she saw the marketplace, full of shops and people. Here and there she could spot a guard, and sometimes a child or two, before they got called back to their families.

Family...

_No. _She did not need those kinds of thoughts right now. She had to be strong. Only with strength – and courage – could she face the past.

Annette took a shuddering breath.

But where was strength to be found nowadays? While she was still running for her life?

She had to calm down, or her head might explode. She felt terrifyingly close to it.

_A walk, that's what I need. A walk._

She struggled to compose herself, and managed to look sufficiently stable before turning to leave. Then, on second thought, she returned to the mirror and pulled off the wig and moustache. She already had enough on her mind at the moment without being reminded of her upcoming duel.

Even more importantly, she barely even remembered herself anymore.

**This was rather a tense, troubled chapter, but (hint hint) it'll be really important to the plot later on! Leave a review and tell me what you think! :)**


	4. Chapter 4: Simply Unexpected

**Note: Major changes here too, particularly Annette. :) Enjoy!**

D'Artagnan paced up and down the streets of Paris, going nowhere in particular. Thoughts of Milady, Lord Buckingham, and their diabolical intentions filled his mind once more ... as they had for the past few hours.

He was going to be sick of the whole thing. Yet he couldn't drive it all from his mind, because of that overwhelming sense of duty drummed into him from his first days as a Musketeer. By definition, wasn't he charged with protecting the royal family and France as a whole? Sounded like too much, but that was exactly what he had to do. And that meant getting to the bottom of the enemy's plans.

How was he going to do that, if he didn't even know who they were? All he knew was that they were formidable enemies, with formidable plans. He seriously hoped that when he did finally find out who they were, he would still be alive to show for it.

Okay, now _that _was just all-out disheartening.

D'Artagnan sighed deeply and kept on walking aimlessly. The Musketeers needed an informant, a spy in the enemy ranks, or they were going to be useless against any sort of foe.

Now, if only he could find one…

All of a sudden, loud voices, one of them female, interrupted D'Artagnan's thoughts. He turned the corner and found a young lady surrounded by several men.

* * *

"So maybe being myself isn't even a good idea now," thought Annette as she watched the drunks draw closer. Silently, she cursed herself for not having brought anything to fight with - she was completely unarmed, not even a dagger or one of those awesome fans from Cathay or Japan or someplace, with tiny blades embedded in them ... but that was just too out-of-place here in Paris, plus she didn't know how to use one ...

_Stop getting distracted! _The sane part of her mind shouted at her. _You're in _danger, _in case you've forgotten what that _means ... _wait. Danger is now spelled with an A, for Annette. Remember?_

Annette sighed. _Why am I _always _running into trouble?_

It _was _partly her fault she was ever in this mess in the first place …

So fight her way out, then. She felt suddenly tired. Everything _had _to have "fight" in it nowadays.

Well, that was what sharp heels were for anyway - besides _haute couture_, of course.

She still had the wall to her back, though, so ... the only alternative was to dodge flying glass bottles, while using her shoes as a weapon. She took them off and brandished them at the men.

_What a sight I must look - waving my shoes in the air like this. What a proper lady – but I've never been a proper one anyway, not even close._

"You had better not get any closer!" she shouted, trying to quell the growing feeling of fear. She was supposed to be a Musketeer, for crying out loud! "I'll give you a piece of my mind ... or my incredibly sharp high heel!"

Her voice wavered, and she felt weak.

Apparently, she was not the only one who sensed it.

"_Here, pretty girl_," one said, leering at her and stepping closer.

There was nothing for it. Annette braced herself to fight - but she never had to. A familiar tall man had jumped in front of her, blocking her from the leering drunks.

"Don't you dare lay a finger on her, or you'll have me to answer to."

* * *

D'Artagnan suddenly found himself in front of the girl, shielding her from the other men as he fought them off (or rather, scared them off with the sight of his unsheathed sword). He was not impressed, but at least his Musketeer instincts were still intact.

He _really _had to stop walking around distractedly like this.

On second thought, he sort of wished some of the men had not run off. He was itching for a fight (which could not be a good thing).

The coast was clear now, and he turned to the lady behind him. "Mademoiselle, are you all right?"

She had really beautiful grey eyes – he couldn't help but notice. Leave it to D'Artagnan to fall for the first damsel in distress he met.

But then again ... she did look rather pretty. Definitely French, by the way … but she didn't look like she came from these parts. Probably somewhere from the south …

He realized she was staring right back at him with those grey eyes of hers, which now looked oddly haunted. In fact, her entire face held an expression of unbearable fatigue and hardship that no one like her should ever have had. D'Artagnan suddenly felt an unnatural sense of worry cloud his mind.

What had happened to make her look this way?

He didn't want to think about it.

"Are you all right?" he asked again, more gently this time.

"Y-yes," the girl gasped out, not sounding at all well – and suddenly she'd pitched forward into his arms and D'Artagnan had to struggle to hold her upright. He hoped she hadn't fainted – she hadn't, thank goodness.

Now, she was just looking at him again with those eyes that told of unspeakable burdens … and D'Artagnan, for some reason, was seized with the impulse to pull her close and sooth away her fears.

He realized the girl was speaking.

"Th-thank you …" Her voice was soft, and he could imagine her saying more – like, perhaps, "I love you" …

He pushed _that _thought out of his mind.

"I could accompany you if you like," D'Artagnan offered gallantly. She really didn't look well – her face was pale and she looked shaky all over, as if she might collapse. But the girl refused.

"I'm all right. Thank you," she said, and then, even more softly, "sir Musketeer …"

And then she was gone, leaving D'Artagnan alone in his thoughts once more.

How … how had she known who he was? He hadn't even dressed like a Musketeer. But then again, most young men in these parts were either Musketeers or the cardinal's guards, so there was little room for doubt …

Still, decidedly strange. She must have some connection to the Musketeers, at least.

Then a flash of pink on the ground caught his eye. He strode over, bent down, and picked up a pink handkerchief embroidered with the initials "A.D."

**How was that for a first meeting between Annette/D'Artagnan (as their actual selves LOL) If you have any questions/feedback etc., please let me know!**


	5. Chapter 5: Circumstantial

**Hey again! :) For all of you who've read the book, you may find that this story is based more on the book than the movie :) LOL I didn't really watch the movie at all ... But the book is AWESOME AWESOME AWESOME ... So read it if you haven't! XD**

D'Artagnan walked back home in a daze, still holding the handkerchief in his hand, reflecting, with a good deal of sarcasm, on the turn of events. He was just so fortunate these days. A beautiful girl had appeared out of nowhere, but she just _had _to be the lady friend of one of his soon-to-be fellow Musketeers. (That might explain, too, how she knew who he was.) His life just couldn't get any better.

And he hadn't even known her name! Now he couldn't return her handkerchief - except maybe through that Andrey, whom he rather disliked now for some reason. Well, her initials he knew - "A.D." What _could _her name be? He pondered this as he walked on.

For all his thinking, he couldn't shake off the thought that she and Andrey were somehow … related. And not as Musketeer-lady friend sort of way.

There was some secret between the two, he was sure of it.

"Hey, D'Artagnan," a loud voice cut into his thoughts. "Did you just bump into a streetlight?"

Porthos's assumptions were accurate, as usual. "Something like that," muttered D'Artagnan. "But something shorter, more bright, and leaving more darkness in its wake." He left Porthos to ponder over that, and walked on - smack dab into Athos and Aramis, who had been following close behind Porthos and had heard everything.

"Now, now, D'Artagnan, don't feel so glum," Aramis reassured him. "Porthos just lost to Athos (as always) in a card game, and is just looking for someone else to pick on so he can attempt to keep his big head up in society."

"Hey! I heard that!"

"Good!" Aramis called. "Sorry, must go confront the portly Porthos now." D'Artagnan couldn't help a laugh as Aramis and Porthos got into yet another of their constant arguments; here was a sport in which both candidates were evenly matched. It always ended in a stalemate of sorts, with no ill feelings.

"What's going on, boy?" Athos's calm voice roused D'Artagnan from his reverie. Anyone else might have looked at Athos and proclaimed that he had a heart of stone, but not D'Artagnan. Athos might not look it, or say it, but D'Artagnan knew when he was concerned about him. To D'Artagnan, Athos was almost a father.

Then Athos noticed the handkerchief in D'Artagnan's hand and gave him a look of disapproval. "Let me guess - did you meet a lady?"

"Yes and no, in a sense," D'Artagnan sighed. "I barely even know her, and she just turned out to be that new Musketeer's lady friend." He described the encounter completely to Athos, hoping for some advice in turn.

But D'Artagnan would never have expected the stoical Athos's face to suddenly darken suspiciously. The older Musketeer clenched his hand on his sword hilt, and his murderous-looking expression made D'Artagnan step back warily.

"Are you all right, Athos?" he ventured.

"Yes," said Athos, although he did not look it. "All I can say is, stay away from the lady. And be careful around Andrey. Trust me, boy, you'll be thankful for my advice in the long run."

"You mean that short little thing?" Porthos interrupted, guffawing and cutting off whatever D'Artagnan might have said in reply. "Him! That midget! Ahahaha, if you can prove he has a lady friend then I'm the King of France!"

"Kindly watch your mutinous talk, sir," said a voice behind them, "or you might have something big on your hands."

They all turned around to find Andrey, the new young Musketeer, twirling his sword. Porthos guffawed.

"Well, well, look what we have here!" he chortled, evidently having found someone to pick on.

"Shut it, Porthos!" D'Artagnan elbowed his friend in the side, but he probably didn't even feel it. "I have a duel with the guy!"

"Oh you do?" Immediately, Porthos brightened up even more, if that were possible. "Then I'll be your second!"

"I have no seconds," Andrey pointed out. "That would go against the rules of dueling."

"Whatever," said Porthos airily. "Then I challenge you to a duel, too!"

"Look here, I'm not looking for a fight," said Andrey, holding his hands up in a peaceful gesture. "We're all fellow Musketeers here."

"Oh all right, then," interrupted D'Artagnan, before Porthos could speak. "If you tell me who that girl is and how she's related to you, then you won't have to duel any of us."

It _was _turning out to be a life-or-death situation, after all, D'Artagnan reasoned. _Athos, Porthos, and Aramis have no compunction for others, new Musketeer or no, when it involves friends like me._ (Especially since Andrey had asked for it himself.) Faced with such odds, couldn't Andrey possibly be moved to tell the truth? Anyone would do that, right?

Or run … but technically, the new Musketeer was surrounded – and no sane Musketeer would ever have deserted his courage like that.

"_What kind of a deal is that?_ Well, I suppose it _could_ work ..." D'Artagnan was beginning to grow hopeful as he looked at the small Musketeer pondering to himself.

"...No."

"What?" _Did he just outright _refuse _to tell the truth? Just like that?_

"I said no, and I mean no," reiterated Andrey, his arms crossed lazily as he leaned against a wall. "All you wanted to know is whether she is my lady friend? Well, I can tell you this much - no."

"Well, you didn't fulfill the deal, exactly," Athos pointed out.

"So..." The young Musketeer looked uncertain … but D'Artagnan knew exactly what was coming.

"You'll have to duel all of us," Athos stated serenely.

* * *

D'Artagnan drew his sword and stood in a fighting stance, waiting for Andrey to get ready. The guy was looking downright nervous as he fumbled with his sword, and D'Artagnan suddenly remembered when, ten years ago, he had been in the exact same situation, and felt some understanding and sympathy for the new Musketeer.

But that didn't mean he would let anyone beat him in a duel. D'Artagnan _was _a Musketeer, after all, bound by law and code to carry out his duty … which included duels when challenged, apparently. And there was no way he would lose to a novice … especially someone related to a certain girl ... Involuntarily, D'Artagnan tightened his hand on the hilt of his blade.

Finally, Andrey seemed to have gotten himself together, and he stood, his eyes meeting D'Artagnan's. It was at that moment that D'Artagnan fully took stock of his opponent for the first time, and something hit him. This young man looked oddly familiar…

"D'Artagnan, would you like to start?" asked Athos, from off to the side, where he had been leaning against the brick wall of a nearby house. His voice jolted D'Artagnan out of his thoughts.

"I'll let the youngster start," said D'Artagnan (he had been waiting to call someone else that for too long!), and barely suppressed a smirk as Andrey glared venomously at him. Both of them raised their rapiers, but they hadn't even started the duel when –

"Halt! You are all under arrest!" shouted a deep gravelly male voice from behind them. Andrey gave a very un-Musketeer-like squeak as he gaped wide-eyed at something over D'Artagnan's shoulder.

D'Artagnan, Porthos, Aramis, and Athos just groaned.

**Hehehe. D'Artagnan is still clueless LOL. Tell me what you think of this chapter! :D Feedback is appreciated!**


	6. Chapter 6: Chaos and Awkwardness

**Enjoy the story! I hope you don't mind the frequent POV changes ... **

They all turned around to face the four guards dressed in red uniform, all holding unsheathed swords. The Cardinal's guards. They were surrounded.

"Musketeers, fighting _duels!_ Well, well!" the tallest of them, who looked to be the leader, jeered. "You all know what that means - arrest! And who knows, we might just be able to think up some other suitable punishment, too! Imagine the look on Monsieur de Tréville's face when he hears about this -"

A clang sounded as the guard's sword went flying off into the distance.

"Or he may not."

The tall guard gulped at the sword raised to his throat. D'Artagnan smiled innocently from behind the blade he was holding. "Will he?"

"N-no," said the guard nervously, backing away into a wall. D'Artagnan saw the wicked gleam in the guard's eye, and his secretly unsheathed dagger, a second too late.

Since when did they carry daggers around as well …? Almost as if they'd predicted his actions …

"D'Artagnan, watch out!" someone roared from behind him, and D'Artagnan felt himself being suddenly shoved to the side, so violently he almost fell. He turned.

It was Andrey. Andrey had saved his life.

Maybe, just maybe, he was not the suspicious person Athos believed him to be …

Before D'Artagnan could even begin to wrap his mind around that fact, Andrey staggered and fell to his knees, his hand clasped weakly over the hilt of the small dagger embedded in his side.

"Andrey!" D'Artagnan shouted, and ran to the youngest Musketeer's side. He was distantly aware of the sound of metal clanging as Athos and the others fought the guards, but all he could think of was Andrey, who had slumped against him, deathly pale and breathing shallowly.

"D'Artagnan ..." the young Musketeer whispered, his eyes wide open and glassy.

"Hold on, Andrey. You'll be all right. You'll be all right," D'Artagnan found himself saying frantically, unsure of who he was reassuring, himself or Andrey.

He knew that running from the scene of a fight would prove to be a crushing blow to his reputation as a Musketeer. But he had no choice – worry about that later. Without a second thought, D'Artagnan lifted Andrey into his arms and began running home, praying that it was not too late.

* * *

Andrey - or rather, Annette - hadn't really been watching herself, either. She had seen the blasted guard draw his blade - and after that, everything had been a blur. She had run with the speed of light, shoved D'Artagnan out of the way, and felt something sharp plunge into her side. There hadn't really been any pain, just a strange feeling of numbness that had seemed to spread throughout her body. She had fallen, but D'Artagnan had caught her.

She hadn't expected anything to be this way. The horrible guilty, frantic expression on D'Artagnan's handsome face as he looked down at her, the sounds of fighting in the distance, then D'Artagnan picking her up and running ...

She knew they suspected her of something now. Ever since D'Artagnan had found the handkerchief and made the connection … being a female Musketeer had just gotten a whole lot more dangerous.

She half wished that they would know the truth before ….

Then the numbness overcame her, and she lost consciousness.

Now Annette awoke to find herself in darkness.

_Is this what it is like to be dead?_

"Oh no! Andrey, please wake up! Please!"

Wait, that voice sounded familiar. D'Artagnan! He couldn't be dead too, could he? No, he was telling her to wake up ... so she must still be alive!

Then there was hope after all …

She opened her eyes, noticing that the numbness was gone from her body, but also, that there was no pain.

The first thing she noticed was that she was lying down on something soft that could have been a bed. The second thing she noticed was that D'Artagnan was hovering over her, looking extremely worried, but when he saw her open her eyes, a look of such relief passed over his face that she thought he might break down then and there.

"Andrey! You're all right..." D'Artagnan choked on his words and stopped talking entirely.

_He saved me. He saved my life. No one has ever done anything of the like for me before..._

All of a sudden she found herself throwing her arms around the Musketeer. For a moment, he hesitated, then she felt him put his arms around her lightly.

"Thank you," said Annette sincerely, "thank you for saving my life."

"No," said D'Artagnan fiercely, letting go of her. "_I_ owe you _my_ life, Andrey."

There was a short, uncomfortable silence, during which neither was sure what to say. Then Annette decided to change the subject.

"Where am I?"

"Oh, this is my house," said D'Artagnan, gesturing randomly about the place. "You were wounded by that dastardly guard, and I brought you here to heal you ... Thank goodness for that potion – it heals most wounds within three days." He paused. "And thank you, again. For saving me, I mean. It was my fault, and I owe you my life." And then, so low that she could barely hear … "Perhaps Athos was wrong after all …"

So they _did _suspect her. Athos, in particular. She'd have to avoid him, then.

It was jeopardy, continuing on like this. But she knew no other way out, no way to tell them the horrible truth without being caught and thrown into jail … and then, goodbye life. She might as well have returned and met her death that way …

She shivered involuntarily, but thankfully D'Artagnan didn't notice. He seemed deep in thought, and she didn't want to interrupt, but …

"I, uh, need to go home," she said quickly, getting up and walking towards the door. But she only managed two steps before her legs gave, and she braced herself for an unpleasant landing on the hard tile floor.

But it never came. She felt someone supporting her, and opened her eyes to find D'Artagnan holding her extremely close to him ... too close for her liking. Their eyes locked, and she gulped.

He had such nice brown eyes ... She shook herself mentally.

"Th-thank you," she said hastily, and pushed him away again, feeling her face grow hot. She stood quickly, glad that she was able to keep her balance this time, and teetered towards the door.

"You don't look very well," D'Artagnan called. She thought he sounded just a bit shaky.

"I'm all right."

It came out softer than she would have liked, and she groaned inwardly. Oh Lord, she sounded as though she was whispering sweet nothings … She felt herself blush even harder, as pleasant daydreams suddenly filled her head.

She managed to compose herself sufficiently, refusing his offers of a ride and whatnot, and walked out relatively steadily, leaving a gaping D'Artagnan in her wake. As she hobbled shakily down the street, a hand to her side, every now and then pausing for breath, she again thought of D'Artagnan, that handsome and gallant Musketeer.

Maybe he wasn't such a bad person. After all, he _had _saved her – twice.

And when he had caught her...

_What would it be like to kiss him?_

_STOP! _She told herself irritably, but she felt her cheeks heating up (again) and a small smile cross her face as she made the long trek back home.

* * *

D'Artagnan shook himself after Andrey had disappeared out the door. That Musketeer. So stubborn, just like himself.

_And what just happened ... _his brain teased.

_STOP IT!_

He had merely caught Andrey. That was it. And he had just happened to hold Andrey a little too close to him, was all. _Nothing had happened!_

But he couldn't shake off that strange feeling he had when he had looked into Andrey's eyes in those few moments. It was as though sparks had been flying between them.

_Nonsense! No, no, no! For God's sake, he's a MAN!_

That, and the other Musketeer's strange, soft voice … why did it sound so much like the voice of the girl he'd met on the street just a while ago?

He must be hearing things.

D'Artagnan slapped his forehead in frustration. _Now I'm REALLY going crazy._


	7. Chapter 7: Incognito

**Some of you know already what this is ... I made a few changes here. Well, I can't say I hope you like it, because there's a bit of violence here. Still, it's important in the story ...**

Night had fallen on the city of Paris, and one by one, the lights slowly went out. Shadows lengthened, enveloping the city in varying shades of gray and black.

In all the darkness, it would have been nearly impossible to notice the slim figure, cloaked all in black, slipping in and out among the shadows. Slowly, the figure made its way to the ornate tall gate that surrounded the magnificent palace of King Louis, and waited there, out of sight of the guards. Some minutes passed, but the figure still remained by the gate, ever vigilant.

"Milady."

The figure (Milady) turned to a guard who was stealthily walking towards the palace gates, holding his hand over a small bulge in his overcoat. He froze at the sight of the magnificent beauty that stood there before his eyes. Sleek, long brown hair framed her fine features. Her piercing grey eyes, cold and cruel, seemed to bore into his very soul, trapping him in place. Hurriedly, he slipped out the small, palm-sized white package from his overcoat and handed it over. Milady nodded once, and replaced her hood.

The voice that floated from the full, rouged lips would have been sugary sweet, if not for the coldness that infused it like steel.

"Your reward …"

The guard gave a strangled gasp as he felt the dagger laid across his neck.

"We can't have our secret given away, can we?" said Milady sweetly.

With one fluid movement she sent the blade flying across the guard's throat. He crumpled to the ground, a pool of blood beginning to form around his head.

Milady did not even blink an eye. Her cold expression remained the same as she paused to wipe off the blade of her dagger on his coat. Her work here was done, and she must leave swiftly and quietly. With a swirl of black robe, she turned and vanished into the distance, just another lone figure returning home for the day.

* * *

Milady walked through the darkness, her grey eyes darting here and there warily. Passing the stable of an inn, she paused, then stepped inside. The stable was completely empty except for the horses, which shifted uneasily at the sight of the black-cloaked figure nearing them.

_Perfect. _

Without hesitation, she saddled a black stallion and climbed up effortlessly. Whipping the reins, she directed the horse on a southerly course, and rode off. If someone came and discovered the horse was missing, it was no concern of hers.

Milady rode through the now deserted streets of Paris, making sure to keep her hood steady on her head. It would not do to be seen like this. Even if no one would suspect her of anything … Cloaks were just _so_ unfashionable these days.

At last, she came to the outskirts of the city. Several rundown-looking houses and buildings dotted the urban landscape. Slowing down, Milady brought the horse to a stop against the back of a weathered-looking stone building that looked more like a prison than the inn it actually was.

As she dismounted, her well-trained eye detected small movements beneath the pitch-black shadows cast by the building. A horse walked restlessly off to the side, next to a tall man, who stepped out to meet Milady. His sharp, chiseled features were now barely discernible in the darkness. But Milady recognized him well enough.

"Lord Buckingham," she acknowledged coolly.

"Milady," he returned. "Do you have it?" His voice was deep, but with as refined a tone as any of the royalty.

"Yes," said Milady. She produced the small white package and handed it to him. Buckingham slowly unwrapped it, and they both stared at the ornate silver necklace, inlaid with purple stones, that lay within the cloth. Buckingham gave a low whistle.

"Yes," he said. "This will be perfect for our plans. Just as the Cardinal wanted." He mounted his horse, which began to trot away, but Milady called after him.

"Wait," she said, and Buckingham turned back towards her with an appraising glance.

"How shall I benefit from this?"

"Ah ... that shall be seen soon enough," said Buckingham, and with those cryptic words he turned and disappeared into the distance, leaving Milady standing alone in the darkness by the inn.

* * *

In their rush, neither of them noticed the almost invisible glow of a candle above them, nor the pale, shocked face plastered to the window, nor the nearly inaudible catch of breath that sounded from the girl at the window as she saw and heard everything that had been exchanged.

**Anyone want to venture a guess at the girl's identity at the end? (I think I made it a bit obvious :O I'm not sure if it's better obvious or not ... Ah well, all will be revealed soon enough ...)**


	8. Chapter 8: Found Out

**Merry Christmas, y'all! :) New chapter, at last! I'm sorry for the short length of this chapter. It's mostly filler, but I promise there'll be action later on! :D Enjoy! :)**

(Two days later)

Annette trudged up the stairs to her inn room, still wearing her customary disguise as Andrey. The fake moustache scratched at her lip and the wig was uncomfortably tight – she'd have the marks to show for it later. But Annette had no choice.

She could no longer appear as a girl anymore. Recent events had proved exactly how dangerous it could be to have the best of both worlds, as it were.

Milady was here.

And that spelled danger – danger in the extreme.

How had she gotten here, known to come here?

It had been seven months. Seven months since Annette had left her home in the south of France, traveling on foot, by carriage, by horse; purposely going nowhere in particular, never staying in one place more than once, the whole nine yards … just to keep a certain murderess off her tail.

Her own sister.

Her own sister was after her, to take away her life.

Never mind that they were look-alikes – that was a danger in itself. Being arrested because she was Milady's twin was just about the second worst thing she could imagine – next to finding herself in the hands of the heartless witch herself.

She could only hope they would not think to investigate the Musketeers. That would be the last place a proper lady would take refuge in … right?

But she _wasn't_ a proper lady.

If only Milady didn't know that.

She couldn't leave, though. It was death both ways. Death for treason, for willfully withdrawing from duty as a Musketeer, for impersonation … or death in her own sister's arms.

There was no way out.

* * *

She stepped into the room and immediately caught sight of the small folded piece of parchment on the floor. Must be the map of Paris she'd dropped …

Annette picked it up, opened it … and gasped.

_I know who you are._

It was written in messy black ink across the back of the piece of paper. Unsigned.

Her hands shook as she looked at the piece of parchment in her hands, silently reading and rereading the spidery scrawl over and over again, trying to make some sense out of it.

How could … how could anyone have _known?_

She'd thought she was safe from any suspicion ... But then, when you were a woman posing as a Musketeer, there was always room for doubt.

There could only be two possibilities. Either the writer was a Musketeer, in which case it might be Athos … or Milady herself.

She felt like her mind was about to burst. Why oh why did bad luck follow her wherever she went? She wanted to scream.

_Calm down, calm down. Everything will be all right._

The gentle voice echoed in her head, bringing tears to her eyes. She didn't want to cry, she wasn't weak … she would not show weakness …

"_Mother," _she whispered, and the tears came at last.

**Leave a review to tell me what you think! I know it's more mystery right now, but there'll be clarification later! I don't know if I'll be able to update soon, but hopefully! Ciao! ~**


	9. Chapter 9: Confessions and Compromises

**Hi again! I was able to upload a new chapter fairly quickly yay! But I apologize in advance for the length of this chapter, as compared to the previous one. Hope you don't mind! Enjoy! :D**

The sky was still dim, and the sun had barely begun to rise, but in a small park not far from Monsieur de Tréville's villa, a young man could be seen sitting alone on a bench as though to rest. Appearances, however, were deceiving, and if any passersby had happened to look closely, they would see that his supposedly calm face wavered, and that he was actually rubbing away dried tear tracks.

Annette, in her disguise as Andrey, desperately tried to make sense of her thoughts while keeping a (shaky) lid on her emotions.

First, she had to elude Milady. Annette had, first thing, burned up the mysterious parchment and what dresses and such she had left - it was best to leave no evidence of her true identity as a female. Then she'd immediately checked out of the inn - permanently, of course. That meant she had practically no place to go, until she found another inn ... but that shouldn't be too much of a problem, given the money she had with her. And regarding identity, the safest option by far would be to remain as she was, a Musketeer. It offered a measure of protection she could not be certain of if she did pack up and leave Paris alone.

Easier said than done.

Even staying with the Musketeers was proving risky - though the duel was officially off because she'd saved D'Artagnan, they still suspected her of ulterior motives of some sort. Particularly Athos - he must think she had something to hide - and indeed, he was right. She couldn't tell them, though - they probably wouldn't believe her until she was locked up in jail, and even then the possiblity was slim. Yet that was her only choice in the matter.

Annette didn't want to live the rest of her life in fear of Milady. That had gone on for far too long, and Milady must be stopped. Especially since she was now working with Lord Buckingham ... which could not be a good thing. Buckingham was from England, Milady from France ... what if they were trying to start a war or something?

Even more importantly, did the Musketeers know this yet?

Probably not. D'Artagnan and the others seemed to be going on with their lives much as usual ... so she was the only one who knew. But how to tell them? D'Artagnan might believe her (by a long shot), and her relationship with the others was tepid at best. They didn't even consider her a fellow comrade or friend.

Annette sighed. Things were just so difficult nowadays.

But the problem of Milady could not be ignored. If she and the Musketeers delayed, it might just be too late.

Annette had to find a way to convey the information to them ...

"You'd best tell me whatever information you have, Milady. Now would be preferable, before I lose control over my rapier here."

She looked up to find a sharp blade hovering dangerously close to her neck.

_Oh, of all the coincidences in the world ..._

* * *

Athos kept his sword trained on Andrey - or whom he'd originally believed to be Andrey. He'd suspected something from the very beginning - there had been something secretive about the way the new Musketeer had operated; he'd evidently had something to hide. Besides, D'Artagnan's description of the girl only served to jog Athos's memory, and he'd realized that Andrey actually looked awfully familiar ...

Like a certain woman who'd betrayed him and his family, escaped from jail twice, and eluded all his efforts to catch her thus far.

Athos would never have believed Milady capable of pulling something off like this - but apparently, she had. Infiltrating the Musketeers - she'd gone too far this time. He'd found out, perhaps with time to spare yet, but how many secrets had she already gained about Monsieur de Treville and the Musketeers?

She had to be stopped. And quickly - no one else must be hurt ...

Wait ... then why had she saved D'Artagnan, instead of killing them all when she had the chance? Things weren't adding up - but then again, nothing about Milady added up, or she wouldn't have been the villain she was today.

She would've been dead a long time ago if that was the case - sometimes Athos wished it had been, but he never really meant it ...

"You've slipped up, Milady," he said coolly, careful not to show any emotion. "That's a first."

He fully expected her to spring at him with a concealed weapon, ready to fight - and indeed, he noticed a small bulge in the side of her jacket that looked to be the size of a small dagger (or gun). Milady was not one to give up easily.

She did nothing of the sort.

* * *

_Well, I sure am found out. So it was_ Athos,_ not Milady, who wrote that note. But he doesn't know how far he is from the truth._

_Should I let him kill me? No - though that might solve all _your _problems, it certainly won't do the same for him or anyone else. Milady will still be alive - and I am the only one who knows anything about her plans so far. I have to tell him, if no one else. Athos would know what to do with the information._

That meant the truth. Every word of it, if possible.

"Wait," she blurted out. "I-I'm _not _Milady de Winter. I'm not here to hurt anyone. I just want to help ..."

Athos gave a mirthless laugh, and Annette could see the pain and sadness in his eyes. "Do you really expect me to believe you now? I trusted you once ... and that was already one too many times."

Right ... Annette still remembered the time Milady had run away a few years ago. Later everyone learned that she'd secretly gotten married to a Frenchman (and then left him to return home - after which, Annette didn't want to remember). So could Milady's husband possibly have been ... _Athos?_

Okay, now _that _was just too much to handle.

By the looks of it, though, she must've hurt him deeply, if not in body then in soul. Annette could sense it. No one went near Milady and survived unharmed. He must have loved her very much, though, before he learned the truth about her ... Maybe he loved her still.

If he wanted to see her, it probably wouldn't be too hard for him to find her ... but she had to let him know that she was _not _who he was looking for. Which was harder than it sounded.

"I'm not Milady!" she protested again. "I know I'm a girl in disguise" - she pulled off the wig and moustache, Athos's eyes widening in surprise despite himself - "but I'm telling the truth. I'm not even going to fight you back. I'm not Milady, I'm her twin, Annette Darcy!" Very _convincing, Annette. You certainly don't _look _like Milady, to be sure._

"Very convincing," said Athos sarcastically, echoing her thoughts. He pressed the flat of the blade closer to her throat, causing Annette to choke for breath. "We've stalled long enough. Now give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you on the spot, for all that you've done."

She sensed that he didn't really want to kill her, like he wouldn't really have the heart to kill Milady if he caught her, but it was better not to press _that _issue at the moment. Gingerly, she pushed the blade back a fraction of an inch, allowing herself breathing space. Ah - the air tasted so sweet. (Once she'd choked her way back to life, that is.) But she had no time to enjoy it - it was down to business now, and quickly.

"I know what she's up to!" Annette shouted. "I can - I was going to - tell you all of her plans, but I didn't want to be found out because she's hunting me down too -"

This was getting her nowhere. Even Athos gave her a look that plainly said "You're fooling no one."

Then a small detail surfaced in Annette's mind.

"One last thing," she said quickly, before he could kill her. "If I'm really Milady, I'm an Englishwoman ... but I've been in French prison at least once before, right?" she asked carefully.

Athos caught on immediately. "You would have the fleur-de-lis on your right shoulder." He shifted his sword slightly off to the side so that Annette could better access her right arm. With the aid of a small dagger, she cut through the right sleeve of her shirt, exposing part of her shoulder. If she'd been branded, there would be a scar, no matter how faint it was. That was what captured criminals carried with them the rest of their lives, as a reminder of their previous wrongdoings.

But her skin was completely unmarked in any way.

Athos blinked - his equivalent of a double-take - but he still kept the blade trained on her, now that she had a weapon out. "So ... you really are her twin."

"Yes. Please don't kill me. I know my appearance must bring back unpleasant memories for you, but I assure you I am only her identical in appearance, not person."

"You may not be Milady, but you are one close to her." Annette flinched - "close" was not exactly the right word to describe their relationship. "The question now is ... why should I trust you?"

So she had accomplished nothing at all, besides proving that she wasn't Milady. Annette felt suddenly tired.

"I don't expect you or the others to trust me. I would earn that trust as best as I could, but I suppose we're all off to a bad start, what with my impersonating a man and all."

"Well spoken, but you just contradicted yourself" - was he _mocking_ her? - "_and_ we're getting nowhere."

"Here's something, all right?" Annette was feeling sick of it all. "The least I can do, then, is tell you what I know about her plans, and it's up to you to believe me or not." Athos waited for her to continue. "Three days ago, at nighttime, I saw Milady meet Buckingham right behind the Mermaid Inn - where I've been staying all this time - and Milady passed a package to him. I think it contained a necklace, though the lighting wasn't too good. It looked like something a queen would wear - with purple jewels and silver lining and all."

On second thought, talking about dangerous villains' plans out in the open - where the danger of being heard was all too apparent - may _not_ have been the best idea ... But she had nowhere to go, and she respected Athos's decision to talk (and kill her) here if need be. Annette continued, but made sure to keep her voice low.

"Then Buckingham mentioned that the Cardinal would be pleased. But the Cardinal is French, and he is English ..." she mused. "And Milady asked how she could profit from this, but Buckingham only gave her a vague answer and left."

Looking up was startled to see Athos's stunned expression - and then she realized the magnitude of what she'd just voiced. What if the necklace _did _belong to a Queen as she'd supposed? If it was Queen _Anne_ of _France_ ... then the issue was big indeed. Annette could think of several unpleasant reasons why Milady would be stealing the Queen's necklace to give to Buckingham - but Buckingham was working with the Cardinal too ... so they must be planning something together. Something between England and France, two of the most powerful countries in Europe, might spell great good or great danger - and the latter was looking more likely in this case.

She could barely wrap her mind around it all. But Athos looked as though he had it mostly figured out by now. He still seemed to suspect her - but she noticed he was no longer holding her at sword-point.

"Am I certain that what you are telling is the complete truth, no other, and that you truly are not working with Milady and her consorts?"

"Yes." Annette wondered if she should swear to prove her point.

"No need to swear." How - how had he _known?_ "Just get your loyalties straight, and prove that you're on our side. Otherwise you'll find yourself locked up in jail for impersonation, espionage and whatever else you've been lying to us about all this time. Is that understood?"

Perfectly. She knew exactly what he meant. It was a compromise - she'd have to give them information about Milady and Buckingham's doings in order to remain safe. The look in his eyes told her that he was all too willing to turn her over to the authorities if need be.

But this was the most accommodating arrangement she'd ever been presented with, and she was grateful for it.

"Thank you, Athos." She said it with full sincerity. Not many people, knowing her exact relation to the most cunning murderess in France, would have spared her life and walked away so readily.

He only gave a nod of acknowledgement and began to leave. Then Annette suddenly remembered something.

"Wait, Athos!" she called. He turned, his face expressionless. "I know I'm not exactly in a good position to ask for favors - but ..." Thoughts of a certain Musketeer filled her mind. "Could you ... could you please not tell the others about our deal? Especially D'Artagnan?"

Even before she'd finished, she knew Athos, with the perceptiveness she now saw as characteristic of him, had immediately and effortlessly grasped the meaning of her words.

But the next thing he said took her completely by surprise.

"Do you love him?"

It was a deceptively simple question, asked in a deceptively expressionless voice. But the fact that she couldn't really fathom Athos presented too many sides to the question for her liking. _Be neutral, be _neutral _..._

"I'm not Milady, but ... no. No, I don't love him." Somehow, that didn't sound quite right - that last part, in particular ...

Athos said nothing, but she knew he understood. It _was _a simple question, after all, requiring nothing but a simple answer.

**Reviews are always appreciated! :D**


	10. Chapter 10: Alerts

**Ah ... Chapter 10 already. :D I hope I haven't been skimping on the action ...**

"I'm bored," Porthos announced loudly from beside D'Artagnan.

They and the other Musketeers were strolling along through the relatively uncrowded streets of Paris, performing their standard Musketeers' task - patrolling. That is, looking for any assembled Cardinal's guards and fighting them if need be; but since their last skirmish the Cardinal's guards had been strangely absent from the city. (Then again, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis were three of the most formidable fighters D'Artagnan had ever seen ... too bad he'd missed the fight.)

"That's always a dangerous sign," remarked D'Artagnan, who was, in fact, taken with the same affliction, but in a good mood nevertheless. He nudged Aramis and Athos and spoke in a stage-whisper. "Hurry, before Porthos decides to alleviate his boredom by using us as punching bags."

"I heard that!" shouted Porthos, without turning his head. "How dare you insult my strength, you little weakling!"

"What!? I'm strong!" protested D'Artagnan in mock seriousness, though it was hard not to smile at Porthos's indignant glare.

"How about we test that in a battle of ... tree-uprooting?" At that even Athos laughed.

"Anytime, that is, whenever His Majesty the King won't be out to get us for destroying public property," said D'Artagnan cheerfully. Porthos didn't answer; he was too busy trying (and failing) to catch the attention of several well-dressed ladies across the street, with Aramis struggling not to laugh in his face. D'Artagnan watched the whole proceeding with interest until the ladies passed out of their sight, leaving a devastated Porthos and his amused friends.

"Is it my doublet?" Porthos moaned, sounding as though he was in the depths of despair. "But I just got this new yesterday!"

Aramis began reciting a prayer.

"Aramis, please stop reciting ... whatever it is you're reciting," bellowed Porthos.

"You'd best listen, Aramis. It's not every day Porthos is polite like this," Athos advised, a smile on his face.

D'Artagnan would've laughed, but his thoughts were already elsewhere. Porthos and the ladies had just reminded him of one rather pretty, but very troubled-looking young lady from just a few days ago ...

He pulled distractedly at the collar of his Musketeer's uniform, which was now becoming extremely uncomfortable in the heat of the noontime sun.

She'd seemed as distressed as any damsel in distress could possibly get. And that look on her face when he'd saved her - it was as though no one had ever done anything of the sort for her before. His heart had gone out to her in that moment, and he'd desperately wanted to help her ... but how? He didn't know who she was, he hadn't seen her again - and Athos had forbidden him to see her anyway.

"D'Artagnan," a stern voice sounded very near him. He looked up just in time to catch Athos's severe glance. "How many times have I warned you?"

"What?" D'Artagnan asked innocently, although he was sure Athos could see right through him. "I'm not distracted. Really, I'm not. See, I'm perfectly awake and alert."

He'd intended to wipe the stern expression off Athos's face somewhat, but it didn't change at all. If anything, his look of disapproval had only deepened. "I thought I told you to stop thinking about that girl."

Aramis's and Porthos's heads immediately whipped around to look at them - obviously, they'd been too busy arguing to listen to D'Artagnan's conversation with Athos the day of the duel. D'Artagnan suddenly felt very awkward with the extra attention, and decided not to reply to Athos's statement. (The answer to which was rather obvious.)

"_Really?" _asked Aramis with interest. "Who is she? Is she beautiful? What family does she come from? What -"

He was cut off by Porthos, whose eyes were nearly bugging out in disbelief. "But I thought all the women would fall for _me!" _he whined, his face the picture of abject misery. At that even Athos managed a smirk before turning and giving D'Artagnan a significant, perfectly clear look.

_All right, all right ..._

"Look, Porthos, Aramis," he began. "Please don't be hurt, offended, or incredibly curious. First, I don't know her, I'm not romantically involved with her" - now why did he feel so disappointed at that? - "_and_ I'm forbidden to see her."

The other two looked as though they didn't believe a word of it, and soon returned to their raging battle of wits, while Athos just walked along, observing them and everything else. Typical.

D'Artagnan also decided to follow suit, taking stock of his surroundings and pushing the mysterious girl out of his mind. During their extremely interesting conversation (insert sarcasm here) they'd veered off the main streets of Paris, and ended up near a small grassy park. Scanning the area, D'Artagnan suddenly caught sight of a very familiar-looking figure sitting alone on a bench, not far from where they stood.

_Andrey?_

* * *

He'd barely seen the young Musketeer since they'd saved each other's lives during that fight with the Cardinal's guards, and D'Artagnan wasn't sure that was a good thing. After all, weren't people supposed to be friends, at least, after something like this?

D'Artagnan couldn't shake off the sense that Andrey was somehow trying to avoid him and the other Musketeers. That was to be expected, since Athos, Porthos, and Aramis weren't exactly the most welcoming of people. (D'Artagnan was all too aware of that, from the first time he'd met them.) Still, they could have been a bit friendlier to the new Musketeer ...

Aramis and Porthos were still arguing over something from philosophy or other, so only Athos saw D'Artagnan make a beeline for Andrey's bench. But he said nothing, only stayed where he was, watching calmly.

"Andrey!" D'Artagnan called amiably when he drew closer. Might as well be the first of Andrey's friends, right? The poor guy didn't seem to know anyone here - it must be a bit lonely. Actually, very lonely - judging by the fact that he was sitting _alone _on the bench, looking as though he hadn't moved for the past hour or more. Well, he moved now, to jump at the sound of D'Artagnan's voice and look up, smiling nervously.

"Why're you here by yourself?" asked D'Artagnan, going around to sit down next to the new Musketeer. "You could have patrolled with us, you know; it gets awfully quiet sometimes." Now that sounded as if he'd like to talk to Andrey more - but that was true.

To his surprise, the young Musketeer colored. He must have understood, but he was reacting rather oddly ...

"Oh - that would be great!" Andrey exclaimed, looking so happy that D'Artagnan's spirits lifted too. There was still a faint troubled look in his eyes, though, that didn't go away ...

"What's bothering you, Andrey?" D'Artagnan asked. "Don't hesitate to tell us - we're all one big, happy Musketeer family, you know? Everyone's nice and welcoming - except Athos, maybe, and Porthos because he loves fights too much, and Aramis ... wait, that's everyone, isn't it?"

Andrey laughed at the look on his face. "Thank _you _for being welcoming, D'Artagnan."

"Anytime." But then, all too suddenly, Andrey's face resumed its former worried expression.

"It's just that ... I don't have anyplace to go," he said quietly.

"What?!" D'Artagnan was appalled. Why would anyone refuse a Musketeer room and board? They were the King's guards, for heaven's sake ... "Well, you could always stay over at my place; the landlord actually has a few spare rooms," he offered.

Andrey still looked reluctant, as though afraid to impose upon D'Artagnan. Well, that could be taken care of quickly. "I insist," he added with a smile. It was the least he could do to help Andrey, right?

"Oh, how can I ever thank you, D'Artagnan?" The grateful expression on Andrey's face brought a warm feeling to D'Artagnan's heart. Then the young Musketeer threw his arms around D'Artagnan's neck ... increasing the awkwardness factor by 100.

"Uhh ... no problem." Andrey finally loosened his hold on D'Artagnan - but now they were WAY too close to each other for D'Artagnan's liking. Mostly it was the fear of a heart attack. But he found himself looking into a pair of very familiar grey eyes - and he suddenly remembered something he'd been pondering over for a while now.

"Wait, Andrey - can you tell me about that girl? You know, the one with the handkerchief she gave you?" It all began to click in his mind as he talked, though Andrey was looking downright panicked. "Keep your hat on, but I think ... I just might like her."

He'd never have expected a blush to form on Andrey's face. That guy really blushed a lot - almost as much as a girl would. But D'Artagnan could think of one reason why, this time.

"She's your sister, isn't she?"

"...Yes."

"I knew it! You have the same eyes, you know. It's not that hard to figure out ... but why didn't you tell me before?" D'Artagnan asked.

"Well ... well, just because - ah... she was leaving."

D'Artagnan was aghast once more. "She _left? _Went home?"

"You really do like her, don't you?" Andrey said teasingly, a twinkle in his eye.

"Maybe ... but she looked so troubled that time I saw her," D'Artagnan mused aloud. "I sort of wish I could have been there for her ... but I guess I won't be seeing her around anymore."

"Well, if your feelings are real ..." Andrey's voice was quieter now. "Fate isn't always cruel. Who knows, you may just see her again ..."

D'Artagnan's pleasant daydreams were rudely interrupted by someone calling them: Aramis.

"D'Artagnan! Andrey!" he called. "Over here!"

Andrey looked reluctant to approach the other Musketeers, but he followed anyway. As they joined the group, D'Artagnan did not miss Athos's expression as he looked at Andrey. So Athos was still suspicious of the new Musketeer, huh ...

There was another man with them - a man he recognized as one of Monsieur de Treville's messengers. He seemed to convey a feeling of foreboding that soon enveloped all the Musketeers present. Evidently something of importance had come up - and it was not good, by the looks of it.

But all the messenger said was, "Monsieur de Treville requests the Musketeers' presence at his villa, immediately."

* * *

Annette couldn't help but note Monsieur de Treville's worried expression as she entered his office along with the other Musketeers. At least he might not be commenting on appearances today - she was still tired from her sleepless night yesterday, and her shirt had been ruined by her own hand (thanks be for her Musketeer's coat, though).

She tried to keep her face expressionless and oblivious, fully aware that Athos's eyes were fixed on her. It took her another moment to become aware of D'Artagnan's attention - which was probably due to entirely different reasons. He probably had a million questions about her female self (which he'd believed was her sister) - or he was still suffering from awkwardness complex. She really had to stop hugging him for everything he did - she could practically sense the awkwardness radiating from him in waves when she did that. The conversation had been nice, though - the longest they'd ever had. No wonder why all the other Musketeers were so nice to him - he really was a great person.

_And handsome, too ..._

She hurriedly cut off that train of thought before she could blush.

On the other hand, she was perfectly (actually only faintly) cognizant of why Athos was staring at her - had he known she was thinking of D'Artagnan? Or perhaps, as it was, she already had more than a nagging suspicion of what this meeting was all about ...

Then Monsieur de Treville sighed, stood up ... and took out a small, letter-sized piece of parchment that looked all too familiar to Annette's eye.

"Musketeers," he said, getting straight to the point. "Things have just taken a turn for the worse." D'Artagnan, Aramis, and Porthos were the only ones who looked relatively clueless. (D'Artagnan looked so adorable when he was confused, by the way.) "I've just received word that the Duke of Buckingham, along with his accomplice - a certain Milady de Winter - may be plotting something against the King and Queen of France." He then proceeded to the nighttime exchange Annette had witnessed just three days ago.

Well, at least everyone believed her. That was a real first.

Then she'd achieved her purpose in writing the anonymous letter to Treville in the first place.

**Please review! :D I've been getting a decent number of hits but I'd really like to hear all your opinions!**


	11. Chapter 11: Taking Action

**Hehe hi again! I'm just trying to get in as many chapters as I can over break because I don't know if I will be able to after :( Anyway I'm on a roll here LOL**

**Enjoy!**

"We have to move fast," said D'Artagnan at the table that night in Porthos's house (or the upper story of a house). Apparently, it was a well-established tradition that each of the Musketeers would invite the others over for a day, alternating several times per week without any set pattern. Annette soon learned that this arrangement provided food for any Musketeers in hard times, made it harder to predict where they'd all be on a certain day, and allowed everyone to stay together in case of trouble.

_I just hope I have enough money left when it's my turn, _thought Annette as she ate sparingly. _These Musketeer uniforms sure are expensive to replace._ And she was still feeling somewhat unused to all of this - life with the Musketeers, that is. For one thing, their drink of choice was wine instead of water.

"That necklace is definitely the Queen's, by the way," said Aramis. "The one she usually wears at the ball - like the one a week from now. One of her ladies-in-waiting told me about it once."

"Aha! Aramis has a _lady friend!" _sang Porthos, joined by Planchet the servant, and Aramis blushed furiously.

"She is simply a friend!" he protested, although he'd already given himself away. "Look at you and _your_ ladies!" he shot back at Porthos.

"Remember, I scared them all off last time with my manliness?"

"_At last_, you admitted it!" Aramis was triumphant. "Except the manliness part," he coughed.

_"What did you say, Aramis?"_

"Nothing, nothing at all!" Aramis said cheerfully, beaming at a bemused-looking Porthos.

Athos was still observing Annette from across the table. True to form, he was probably making sure she didn't secretly poison the food and drink, but she was rather unnerved nevertheless. She turned to D'Artagnan, who was observing Aramis and Porthos's verbal fight interestedly.

"Are they always like this?" she asked.

"Yes. It's rather entertaining to watch, actually. Especially when Porthos introduces hand motions to go along with his speeches." Several jewels from the overhead chandelier rained down on the table, soon followed by the chandelier itself. "...Take that, for instance."

"It really is rather exciting," said Annette, although she was trying not to laugh. "Thank goodness you saved the food though, D'Artagnan."

"Of course. I don't like seeing my friends starve just because one is completely boisterous."

Annette didn't really want to ruin the cheerful mood, but thoughts of Milady and Buckingham were also nagging at her. "So, what do we do about the necklace again?"

"Buckingham is always after money, as is well known by the English," Athos interjected, and Annette thought she knew why he emphasized the word 'English.' "But what's significant is that it may be one of the necklaces His Majesty King Louis had made for her. And if it's found in Buckingham's possession ..."

"They're trying to brew up a scandal!" Annette gasped in shock. All heads turned to look at her, and she blushed. "Sorry."

"No, I think you're right, Andrey," said D'Artagnan. "He and Milady must also be working with the cardinal, who probably wants the throne for himself. We can only hope the cardinal and Buckingham aren't working to take over all of Europe or something."

"The first thing, then, would be to send a spy into Buckingham's palace, and find out what exactly he's planning," suggested Athos, although he sounded as though he'd planned this all out a long time ago. He gave Annette a significant look, and she sighed inwardly, summoning her courage to say the words.

"I'll go." Her voice was soft, but somehow everyone heard. Even Porthos and Aramis were listening.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" D'Artagnan asked. "You don't know how dangerous that is ..."

"I'm a Musketeer, remember?" Annette said firmly, though she secretly appreciated D'Artagnan's concern (she was feeling rather scared herself). "What better way to prove myself than by accomplishing such a task?"

"Exactly," said Athos, and D'Artagnan had to agree. "We'll set out tomorrow at first light -"

There was a loud banging on the door, followed by the sound of a harsh voice. "Musketeers! Surrender yourselves immediately!"

"- Or now," Athos amended quickly, standing up and going over to the window. He looked out, then turned back around with a grim expression on his face.

"It's Rochefort, Jussac and at least forty other men out there with torches."

"Who are Rochefort and Jussac?" Annette asked.

"Rochefort's captain of the Cardinal's guards, Jussac is second-in-command," D'Artagnan informed her. "If they realize we know about Milady and Buckingham, then this means that the Cardinal really is involved in all this."

"Or they're just looking for a rematch to that fair fight we gave them last time," Athos said dryly.

"You should've seen me - I threw logs at the lot of them!" Porthos said proudly to Annette and D'Artagnan. "Shall I this time, Athos? With the flaming ones? _Please?"_

"No," said Athos, who was already moving. "We have to get to our horses -"

"Surrender, _now!" _Rochefort bellowed from down below. "Don't even think of escaping - your horses are safe here with us." Jussac and the other guards guffawed.

It wasn't a laughing matter, though. They couldn't escape, and Rochefort had said he'd burn them out. Come to think of it, Annette did smell something ... burning. And it wasn't the fire.

D'Artagnan seemed to have realized this, too. "They must have set fire to the house!" Already the crackle of flames could be heard down below.

Planchet spoke. "What do we do now, good sirs? We'll all be killed -"

"Shut up, Planchet," said Athos, Porthos, and Aramis in unison, and the rotund servant retired to the fireplace in offended silence.

Annette said nothing. She had just been observing the roof, or rather, the section of the roof that had been removed to form a small window ...

* * *

D'Artagnan wanted to praise Andrey for his quick thinking (not many people would have chosen to escape peacefully when there was a fight to be had - D'Artagnan was not one of them), but he had to keep quiet for now. Escaping swiftly and quietly was the order of the day, though it was no easy matter, especially when it involved scrambling over a rather slippery _and _steep roof with the Cardinal's guards directly below ... But at least the smoke from the growing fire obscured them from view.

All he knew was that the Cardinal's guards might be paying some big money for that house ... or not, if it was covered up and simply reported as an accident - which was the more likely result. (They _were, _however, going to get a nice sound drubbing from Porthos, entirely free of charge.)

On another note, D'Artagnan had never thought he'd feel so thankful for the existence of clotheslines. They really helped when you were trying to get down from a twenty-foot-tall roof. Of course, the Musketeers had to hop over several of these roofs before they were safely out of range of the Cardinal's guards, but it was no problem - except, maybe, for Planchet.

"I'm never walking on roofs again!" declared a shivering Planchet after they were out of earshot (naturally followed by a chorus of "Shut up, Planchet"), while Porthos bemoaned his burned-down house.

"Don't worry, Porthos, we'll all be rewarded if we succeed in this mission," consoled D'Artagnan, at which Porthos perked up slightly.

Athos began to speak, and they all fell silent. "We'll need to find horses, get to a port, and sail to England. Any ideas?"

"How about Calais?" suggested Andrey. "From there, we can have a relatively short journey to England." Everyone agreed.

"As for the horses ... perhaps Monsieur de Treville would let us borrow some, since we've just happened to reach his villa," D'Artagnan pointed out.

* * *

"I still miss my horse," said Aramis as they finally rode out of Paris and began making their way north - northeast, to be exact.

"I still miss my _house, _so kindly shut up."

"In our hurry, I wasn't able to get my all-heal ointment, so you should _both _be quiet," interrupted D'Artagnan.

"Fine. But allow me some time to pray for a safe journey, at least."

"No. You just put me in a bad mood. Would you like to be my punching bag instead?"

"Could you two kindly stop arguing," interjected Athos, sounding annoyed.

"But ... but it's such a good way to pass the time!" protested Porthos.

Athos sighed. "You two argue more than an old married couple." (D'Artagnan and Andrey collapsed in laughter.)

"... Is that a compliment, coming from the great noble Athos? I really, really hope so -"

"No."

**LOL I finally ended up incorporating some parts from the 2011 movie ... but I just watched it and it's pretty awesome! :D Even if it doesn't follow the book. Please leave a review to tell me what you think! :D**


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